The Places That Shape Us

I've been thinking lately about how much of who we are is shaped by the places we grew up in.

Not necessarily the houses we lived in or the towns we called home, but the landscapes, people and seemingly ordinary moments that somehow become part of us.

Last week, on my journey back home, I passed through Dinner Plain, a little alpine village tucked away in the Victorian High Country.

My family had a house there when I was growing up. Although we travelled extensively throughout my childhood, spending time in different corners of the world, Dinner Plain was somewhere we would return to for a few months at a time.

And the moment I arrived, something in me softened.

There are places where you can almost feel yourself exhale. Where the quiet, the landscape, the familiarity of it all seem to tell your body that it can finally unwind.

Dinner Plain has always been one of those places for me.

It was wonderfully quiet. And despite all the years and places in between, being back in those mountains felt remarkably like coming home.

It's a rather priceless feeling, isn't it? To arrive somewhere and realise that, without having to do anything at all, you already feel at ease.

Being back reminded me of a childhood that shaped me in more ways than I probably realised at the time.

I remember my first overnight camping adventure with my dad. Waking up in the wilderness, eating Weet-Bix for breakfast and watching wild brumbies roaming through the landscape.

I remember my mother's walk-in wardrobe, filled with beautiful outfits custom-made by a local seamstress. I'd spend hours playing dress-ups, disappearing into a world of fabrics, colours and imagination.

And then there were the horses.

My love for horses, horse riding and the natural world began there, surrounded by mountains, open spaces and a kind of wildness that felt completely ordinary to me at the time.

Clearly, I was equally happy playing dress-ups in fabulous clothes or disappearing into the wilderness. Some things really haven't changed.
 

It's funny what stays with us.
 

Not necessarily the grand occasions, but those little moments that somehow find a permanent home in our memories.

A particular smell. A familiar landscape. A song that takes us straight back to another time. Sometimes all it takes is one small reminder to reconnect us with a part of ourselves we haven't thought about in years.

And what struck me most was how relatively little time I actually spent there in the grand scheme of my life.

A few months here, a few months there, scattered throughout a childhood spent travelling the world.

Yet here I am, decades later, recognising how profoundly those experiences may have shaped the woman I've become.

It's remarkable, really, how even the briefest chapters of our lives can leave such a lasting imprint. We tend to measure the significance of our experiences by how long they lasted, when perhaps their influence has very little to do with time at all.
 

For me, perhaps that's where my love of solitude began. My need for space and freedom. My fascination with wild, remote places and the way I feel most at ease when there's nothing but nature around me.

Over the years, I've lived in different countries, wandered through beautiful cities, experienced different cultures and fallen in love with many ways of living.

And yet, wherever I've been, there's always been a part of me longing for the wilderness.

Somewhere quiet. Somewhere spacious. Somewhere I can simply be.

Of course, not everyone finds that feeling in the mountains or the countryside.

For some, it might be the familiarity of a bustling city, the sound of the ocean, a childhood kitchen filled with conversation or a particular place that holds memories of someone they loved.

Perhaps what matters isn't so much the place itself, but how we felt when we were there.
 

Free. Safe. Curious. Alive.
 

It's interesting how much we romanticise the idea of a slower life these days.

A little house in the countryside. A few animals. A vegetable garden. Long mornings without rushing anywhere.

And while I understand the appeal, having spent time living that way, I also know there's a reality behind those beautiful images.

The work, the responsibilities, the isolation. The things that rarely make it into the photographs.

A slower life isn't necessarily an easier one. And unfortunately, the laundry doesn't disappear just because the view is beautiful.

Nor is peace something a beautiful landscape can simply hand us.

But I do believe there are places that make it easier to reconnect with ourselves. Places where something in us settles, where we remember what matters, and where we feel a little more like the people we've always been.
 

I think about that little girl, equally happy dressing up in her mother's clothes or disappearing into the mountains, fascinated by horses and the world around her.

She couldn't have imagined all the places life would eventually take her.

And I wonder what you remember about the places that shaped you.

What did you love doing before life became filled with responsibilities, expectations and all the things we eventually learn we're supposed to be?
 

What made you feel most like yourself?
 

Perhaps some of those early loves have stayed with you. Perhaps others have been quietly waiting to be rediscovered.

Because beneath all the experiences, the changes, the roles we've played and the lives we've lived, there are often parts of us that remain remarkably unchanged.

Not because we haven't grown, but because some things have always belonged to us.
 

And perhaps, every now and then, it's worth remembering where those parts of us first came alive.